


epiphany

by howyoubrewing



Series: skyguy and snips [3]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Death, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25521577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howyoubrewing/pseuds/howyoubrewing
Summary: The first time a trooper dies in her arms, Ahsoka feels herself age a hundred years. She can never forget his face.
Series: skyguy and snips [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932007
Comments: 3
Kudos: 75





	epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I came up with this idea listening to Epiphany, which talks about war and loss and reminded me of TCW (as most things do). This will most likely be a series covering trauma experienced by different characters during the war, so buckle up. Suggestions welcomed also!

Ahsoka Tano is no stranger to death.

She’s seen troopers go down in battle. She’s seen villages bombed and Separatists kill civilians. She hasn’t been in this war very long, and her young brain struggles hard to process the chaos and loss, but she’s gotten as used to it as she can.

At least she thinks.

She’s never had someone die in her arms. Until today.

The campaign was going decently, even if her hours of sleep were limited; Anakin is at the front of the lines with Rex and a large section of the 501st, keeping up pace with the incoming surges of droids fairly well. Ahsoka is more towards the middle of the formation—she rolled her eyes in annoyance earlier when Anakin stuck her with the shinies, as if somehow he was insinuating that she, too, was still a shiny—and the troopers are holding their ground. They’ve been on the field for several hours now, and exhaustion is creeping into her well-trained muscles. She hopes to the Force that they will push through enemy lines soon and draw this battle to a close so she and the men can rest. When was the last time she got a full night’s sleep? She can’t remember. Maybe once they’re back at the Temple she can relax. The constant grinding of artillery and tanks makes her long for the quiet of her quarters or the _Resolute;_ anywhere she can hear herself think. Her head is starting to ache from the unending noise.

Her wristcomm crackles. “Snips, you guys holding out back there? We’re going to start our final assault.”

“Right behind you, Master,” she shouts as she narrowly avoids a blaster shot. “Let’s finish these clankers.”

She’s more than ready to be done with this battle, especially before their losses escalate. For now, they are fairly low. If they can take the enemy within the hour—

It’s in the split second the thought crosses her mind that things go very wrong.

She hears the whine of a grenade right before it hits the ground, and she’s opening her mouth to scream at the troopers near it when the explosion rips through the soil and she’s thrown into the air, her vision going black as she slams into the dirt.

She comes to, probably only a minute later, her throat constricting in protest to the dirt and smoke she’s inhaled. Ahsoka coughs, lungs burning, scrubbing the rubble from her eyesight as she assesses her limbs to ensure they are still attached.

 _Okay, we’re fine, it’s all good._ The grenade rattled her, but she just has to check on the men and they will all be okay.

Right?

Something in the back of her mind whispers that she is lying to herself.

Ahsoka hoists herself to her feet, hacking again, trying to see through the smoke. She sees the white armor of her shinies, picking themselves up slowly, and relaxes a bit. She steps towards them—

And nearly trips over a body on the ground.

“Trooper?” She shouts over the din of the fight, kneeling beside him, hating that he doesn’t even have a _name_ yet. She doesn’t want to call him by his number, dammit.

Her stomach drops in horror at the mangled, melted mess of his armor. His torso is essentially torn open, a mix of flesh and armor spilling onto the dirt, blood and flesh blasted by the explosion. He was probably the closest to it, she realizes, and took the brunt of the blast.

There’s no way he will live, she can tell instantly. More of him is outside his body than inside. Bile burns at the back of her throat.

He makes a horrible, inhuman noise, and her breath catches in surprise. How can he still be alive? It’s like a cruel joke of the galaxy; instead of letting him die instantly, he will sit here slowly, dying, in agony. 

Ahsoka eases his helmet off, hands under his head, as gently as she can. Her heart breaks as she looks at him, his eyes fluttering, face young and innocent. No tattoos, no identifying markings. This soldier is straight out of Kamino, and he is going to die without a name.

“Hey,” she whispers, her voice sounding choked. There are tears pricking at her eyes. She’s so nauseous, Force—she’s never seen this level of gruesome destruction on a person up close. It’s horrendous. Her brain is firing off in alarm, scrambling to process the grotesque sight in her arms. “What’s your name, soldier? Do you have one yet?”

He coughs, and she feels the spatter of blood spray across her. She doesn’t care, it barely registers. “I…” he gasps. “Don’t. Number. CT…8986.” The effort of those words alone seems to make him grow even paler.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “It’s okay. You did so well today. You’ll get a name now, I’m sure of it.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Wonder…what it will be.”

“Captain Rex is very good at coming up with them,” she assures him. “I’m sure you will get a great one.”

“Thank you…Commander,” he mutters. She realizes he’s in shock, that he can’t see the dire state of his mangled body. So she keeps his eyes looking at her. Maybe he can go out peacefully.

He coughs again, more blood splattering on her. “Sorry,” he mumbles, barely audible.

“Don’t worry.” She wants to scream for a medic (god dammit where is Kix), to scream at the galaxy for starting this kriffing war, for mutilating _children._ This is his first battle, and now he will be snuffed out in an instant, gone forever, with no name and no one to remember him. The whine of the battle feels a million miles away, even though she thinks she hears Anakin shouting over his comms.

 _Snips, are you okay? I heard that explosion from up here. Where are you?_ He sounds like he’s underwater, a thousand miles away. She doesn’t answer.

“I can’t wait…to get a name,” he says, softly, his gaze unfocused.

They are the last words he speaks.

Ahsoka watches as the light drains from his eyes and they are left empty, staring at nothing, his body going still.

She’s dizzy, her head pounding, her entire body frozen in shock. She feels a wetness running down her cheek and realizes she’s crying—silently, without so much as a sob—as she closes his eyes as carefully as she can.

She sets his helmet next to him and staggers to her feet, staring at the body.

She turns and vomits into the dirt. She heaves until there’s nothing left, her entire body shaking violently.

_He’s dead he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead. Blood blood blood blood. He’s gone. He didn’t have a name._

Ahsoka doesn’t know what she’s supposed to feel, and her brain is weirdly frozen, the battle forgotten, her legs seem cemented to the ground. She doesn’t know what to do. She just stands there, shivering, feeling utterly and completely lost and confused. Later, she will realize she is in shock from the trauma.

It could be minutes or hours that passes; time doesn’t seem to exist right now. One minute she’s standing like a statue, staring at the body. The next, a hand is on her shoulder, shaking her. Someone’s saying her name.

She realizes finally that it’s Anakin. “ _Ahsoka!”_ He sounds scared. She turns to stare up at him, blankly, like she’s forgotten he existed.

“You’re hurt!” He’s exclaiming, taking her by the shoulders and assessing her for injuries. “We need Kix. What happened? Force, you look awful.”

Ahsoka is ridiculously confused—she isn’t hurt. She didn’t get shot or anything.

“ _Ahsoka,”_ he says urgently, and it finally jars her enough to meet his gaze. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He means it out of concern, she knows, but she can’t help but flinch a little. Finally, she looks down at herself and realizes she’s covered in blood, her hands slick and red. She becomes aware of the stickiness on her face and neck.

 _His blood,_ she thinks, and if she hadn’t already thrown up everything possible she would have again, a wave of nausea threatening to overtake her.

“It’s…” she croaks, still struggling to think, “it’s not mine.”

He frowns, but looks more relieved. “Not yours?”

She stares at the blood under her fingernails.

“Snips,” he says ever so gently, putting a hand on her chin so she meets his gaze, “what happened?”

“A—shiny,” she mumbles. “Blasted in the explosion. Guts everywhere. He…died. I was holding him.”

Anakin’s face changes as he digests this. The deep concern in his eyes is back, and he looks like he’s unsure what to say. There are no words to make this better, they both know.

She’s still shaking, feeling pale and clammy. Is the battle over? What is going on?

“We need to get you back to the ship,” he says finally, his tone urgent. “You’re in shock. Come on, Snips.” She lets him put an arm around her shoulders and guide her back to a transport; the journey is blurry, and all she remembers is Anakin keeping her right next to him, not caring that the blood from her might get on his robes. Before she knows it they are back on the _Resolute_. Although she longed for the peace of it earlier, it now feels alien and cold to her. 

Ahsoka is silent as he helps her get cleaned up. Patiently, he scrubs the blood from her hands and wipes it from her face. She’s thankful he doesn’t press her to talk, not yet. She isn’t sure the words will ever come—she just sits there like a child, unmoving, staring blankly at the wall.

She feels a million years older. Her optimistic outlook on war, a thing that was once “not too bad with the occasional death” is now this bloody, horrendous thing that fills her with anxiety and terror. She cannot unsee the dead man’s eyes as he took his last breath, or the mangled mess of his ruined body bleeding out. How can she go back on the battlefield and watch more of her men become victims? How do Anakin and Obi-Wan and the rest of the Jedi charge back into war, day after day, continuing after seeing horrors like she did today?

How is she supposed to live with the things she’s seen?

Her shields are shot, she knows, but thankfully Anakin doesn’t pry. He’s just… _there_ , patiently, waiting for whenever she may be ready. Even his presence alone is enough to ease her shattered mind a bit.

He pushes a clean set of clothes in her hands and sends her to the ‘fresher, even though it’s the last thing she wants right now, but she is still dirty and probably doesn’t smell the best. She showers, trying to scrub the remnants of the trooper’s blood from her skin.

It doesn’t seem to want to come off her hands, despite Anakin’s efforts and now hers; the color fades a bit, but the stain is still there. She scrubs her skin raw, desperately trying to erase the memory. Her chest tightens painfully as the panic swells up.

_I don’t have a name. CT-8986._

A strange, strangled sob emits from her mouth as her emotions finally begin to process, as the shock wears off. His face, burned into her brain. It _hurts,_ the fact that he died in her arms and she couldn’t do a thing. She covers her mouth in an attempt to stifle the cries, her shoulders heaving as hot water runs over her. Her hands press against the cold wall to try and steady herself.

 _Get it together,_ she hisses at herself, blinking the tears away as she shuts off the water and blindly gets dressed. But it feels like an anvil is sitting on her chest, crushing her lungs. Her legs give way beneath her and she all but collapses to the ground, leaning against the wall, sobs wracking her body.

“Snips?” Anakin’s voice, worried as ever. As much as she wants the comfort of his presence right now, she hesitates. She’s being so kriffing _weak._ He shouldn’t be seeing her in this state.

“Ahsoka? Are you okay?” Screw looking brave. She needs her master, for this, and she doesn’t know if even that will be enough to help her.

She waves her hand at the door without looking up, hearing the lock click open. Then Anakin is next to her, his hand on her back as she sobs, a terrible, broken sound he’s never heard before.

“Come on, Snips, take a deep breath,” he instructs kindly, rubbing circles on her back.

The tears slow, a bit, enough for the oxygen to flow a little easier, even if the traumatic events of the day are still circling through her mind mercilessly. The anxiety, the fear, the regret—all still there, crippling.

“He…” Ahsoka tries to get the words out; it’s difficult, at first, her breaths still coming rapidly. “He didn’t even have a name yet, Master. I watched him die.” The tears run freely down her cheeks, hot and stinging, and she makes no effort to hide them like she usually would. She’s never cried in front of him.

“Oh, Ahsoka,” he says softly, his voice breaking a little. He pulls her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her like he’s attempting to shield her from the world.

She knows it’s too late for that, but somehow feels safer here with him. The sound of his heart beating makes the thundering of the battlefield seem farther away.

“CT-8986,” she whispers. “His first battle.”

“You won’t forget him, Snips. And he…he had you, in his last moments.”

“How do I forget it, though? The blood. The…the empty eyes?” She shivers.

Anakin’s arms tighten around her. “I don’t know that we ever do, Snips. I think those are things that stay with us. But you learn to live with them. It gets easier.”

She takes a shaky breath, one hand gripping his robes, grounding herself. “I sure hope so.”

He sits there on the cold tile of the ‘fresher with her for hours, in the quiet, as his student, his little sister _,_ cries herself to sleep in his chest—a child who has seen too much, things no one should ever have to see.

That night, in the mere hours of sleep she does get, her dreams are haunted with the eyes of the dead trooper and the blood spraying everywhere.

Until her dying day, she does not forget his face.


End file.
